tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39916437289281960152024-03-13T03:22:34.257-07:00Moon Pools and MermaidsA blog about the vagaries of the reading life and bursts of short fiction.C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.comBlogger600125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-15263008834678189222021-04-21T14:22:00.000-07:002021-04-21T14:22:06.713-07:00Good Health, Good Wishes, and Farewell<p><i>Thank you for reading this blog. It has been a wonderful journey.</i></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_XQBRVb7q0aI-H9Vi-CkfyHRsLM2p699GqnK2tkbw3TqSb6pccUSvzW2bWZbJYXjKJDb_8B6O9HM5Mr82C1CTP8oEeK06-g8KF-dD3Pbl59DPx-iGJNAT-ThMkdZH7zNIF8wfAhKJGLA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="792" data-original-width="1056" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_XQBRVb7q0aI-H9Vi-CkfyHRsLM2p699GqnK2tkbw3TqSb6pccUSvzW2bWZbJYXjKJDb_8B6O9HM5Mr82C1CTP8oEeK06-g8KF-dD3Pbl59DPx-iGJNAT-ThMkdZH7zNIF8wfAhKJGLA/w400-h300/image.png" width="400" /></a></i></div><i><br /></i><i>-- Chrissa, April 2021</i><p></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-51845424439413123462021-04-19T10:01:00.002-07:002021-04-19T10:01:43.698-07:00Bees<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNYrnM-CVXZ4cmt2NklfoorjBXGjKm1dUnlLD5nJDmfGBl5ZMzPnxsRhkNOqXtk8dPzJt1RamNUSY24DqKhye8iLyyx7zQLkUEIs8fB5IX8bOE8lKKuyz0reUbU9VbUzu7sumbynnSmwA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="564" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNYrnM-CVXZ4cmt2NklfoorjBXGjKm1dUnlLD5nJDmfGBl5ZMzPnxsRhkNOqXtk8dPzJt1RamNUSY24DqKhye8iLyyx7zQLkUEIs8fB5IX8bOE8lKKuyz0reUbU9VbUzu7sumbynnSmwA/w267-h400/image.png" width="267" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's not the honey; it's the dimness</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Or maybe my taste in home accoutrement,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My desire to put a bandage</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">over a scar that is being carved</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">by my other hand.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Either way, the bees come home</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">to the weave, sometimes brushing a wrist</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">or using all six legs </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">to rub my shoulders;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">They could teach me a dance--</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">the entrance to fairyland</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">is a hot shimmer</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">in a field of blank green.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">They want me to dance</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">into their feast like a queen</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">whose wings have long </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">been abandoned.</div><i><p><i><br /></i></p>This last fillip of winter has put the bees mostly on hold for now -- it hasn't stopped the wasps poking around the bird-dispensing patio cover and seeing how low they can drift before we start to move. Wasp chicken is a Texas summer activity. This week is theoretically Shot Week...which I'm not going to think about right now or in the context of wasps and bees. bzzzzzzzz....</i><p></p><p>-- <i>Chrissa</i></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-38270030264809085892021-04-17T08:39:00.001-07:002021-04-17T08:39:17.998-07:00My Obsession, Like a Laser<p> <i>For the <a href="https://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/">Sunday Muse #156</a>:</i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigRqpyzBwKWES6MewdICvzMvl8j0s7ibdEJLy2xCSiz6RiQ0tcAG2-5fn5Yx8VdN5sMPwd4RMy7pP0Dr12_MnkMUU2-vBn8sRhhSnpA6ZSnbF1VlRUNqGDFq_waWgteLz3LkYI_f1t584/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="274" data-original-width="184" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigRqpyzBwKWES6MewdICvzMvl8j0s7ibdEJLy2xCSiz6RiQ0tcAG2-5fn5Yx8VdN5sMPwd4RMy7pP0Dr12_MnkMUU2-vBn8sRhhSnpA6ZSnbF1VlRUNqGDFq_waWgteLz3LkYI_f1t584/w215-h320/image.png" width="215" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Bring me...what did I need?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Bring me the brief flash from the side</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">of the obelisk.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Catch it like a butterfly</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Between your palms, gently, when</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">all wisdom fades...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I see the scales, there,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Staining your grip, like ink, like</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">desire--mine, for this.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It stains my head, breaks</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My connection to the divine glass</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and all the gods.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I will raze this city</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">With their corneas.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He tells me these are contact lenses carved from divine eyeballs--and I've known he wanted to destroy this entire shelf. Every model and figure, every book and frame. He keeps telling me that we can't see these ideas, so baldly reified, as if our dreams were toys and our hearts acrylic boxes. He urges me to destroy them, to abjure them to ash and black plastic coffins. Your mind is the trash bin, he warns. Full of old futures long grown impossible. Let me...just let me in your room and I'll help you remember more cleanly. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>It's been one of those weeks--just grey and chilly and not all that conducive to...stuff. It's a week in which having something to say seems impossible and pointless and only for the well-coifed and chatty-- probably the standard ennui for this stage in drafting. It's also perfectly normal to want to stomp like Godzilla around Texas, wearing a mask that's only </i>partially<i> flame-retardant. It's been a weird week. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>-- Chrissa</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-73717470482091456932021-04-14T14:55:00.000-07:002021-04-14T14:55:08.786-07:00And The Third Thing...<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcLUdHUECjEJsgakuRj7Z2Wm1EbEU1G9AgvHatrik22874urAz-3nx-V_kPiNBsPsq0jLsdR6jVvakI8_I23J1PiCCgSkvqkR45UtptEZ8XlW6xB0fLlkd4Z2JUQRm2fwMoP4aUpSXMuo/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="837" data-original-width="564" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcLUdHUECjEJsgakuRj7Z2Wm1EbEU1G9AgvHatrik22874urAz-3nx-V_kPiNBsPsq0jLsdR6jVvakI8_I23J1PiCCgSkvqkR45UtptEZ8XlW6xB0fLlkd4Z2JUQRm2fwMoP4aUpSXMuo/" width="162" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">See through the scales</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">scrape them across my eyes</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">where the fairies dance</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">after midnight</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk9v5BMJhyzoylX9ODnJLsPUw70vuaHpXAjossisIVtxPlA8qG1lpULroP9UGpzqT6AQKNA0tVMB2Yqngm7NQa991X4Z_j5S-ybaAJouf0BGt-eF1hyOiyGm4yK8S9yClPaEMfRB6_KG0/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="803" data-original-width="564" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk9v5BMJhyzoylX9ODnJLsPUw70vuaHpXAjossisIVtxPlA8qG1lpULroP9UGpzqT6AQKNA0tVMB2Yqngm7NQa991X4Z_j5S-ybaAJouf0BGt-eF1hyOiyGm4yK8S9yClPaEMfRB6_KG0/" width="169" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Leave the wood and glass</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Empty as the reflections seem</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Watch me like them</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">evaporate</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqa-Z617MwJ5wOdPWFZCsCn6QFcfQ701fHxUEanc8_5-ulRJxgdUPvewdFNj1r1YlTJ46rr4ZCSAziqw_4NwPuVbqo362QSzslV5LWtb5m9e6c0yesz6Rn-9NR2FLa9zjWO4wIshAj55g/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="731" data-original-width="564" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqa-Z617MwJ5wOdPWFZCsCn6QFcfQ701fHxUEanc8_5-ulRJxgdUPvewdFNj1r1YlTJ46rr4ZCSAziqw_4NwPuVbqo362QSzslV5LWtb5m9e6c0yesz6Rn-9NR2FLa9zjWO4wIshAj55g/" width="185" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Breeze take the dreams</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Like the moth takes the cloth</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Fly them straight home</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">with the rain</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Posting in response to our Wednesday WordCrafters meeting. I'm still wobbly in the writing--it feels like there's a channel for the daily/weekly poems and a separate one for the zines & stories that I start and tuning into one cuts out the other.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Part of this is unrealistic schedules. If I have a zine ready by the end of April, then I'm probably well on track. But the eight million other goals...I'm ready to finish them, as well. What I need is...organization. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>*hisses* *hides under the desk* *more hissing* </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Yep, if I was vampire, you could probably stake me with a planner. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>-- chrissa</i></div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /></div><br /><p></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-42564594875186060162021-04-13T16:47:00.003-07:002021-04-13T16:47:31.553-07:00Unicorn<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy2W7GWH1Cqlp2dipZPHCTOJhg5FDlxISKTD3TnAD0HLuIBWeSfOKfXKdPEtRBJkbUtq7DBMv313tAsUDwhEzbfhS4zARrKMax16y-oxdgXmZA2bKINfSxsbMS6dw6i995MIk29fA4PnM/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="564" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy2W7GWH1Cqlp2dipZPHCTOJhg5FDlxISKTD3TnAD0HLuIBWeSfOKfXKdPEtRBJkbUtq7DBMv313tAsUDwhEzbfhS4zARrKMax16y-oxdgXmZA2bKINfSxsbMS6dw6i995MIk29fA4PnM/" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">When I agreed to become a unicorn,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">there were the following rules:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">1. I will run toward all the sweet</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">blooms, close in, even</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">through thorns.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">2. Flight is not the same</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">thing as hope </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">or joy nesting,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">briefly,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">in my thoughts.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">3. A needle is not a spear,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and I am not </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">a warhorse.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A unicorn is a shadow of friendship</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mythic and missed.</div><br /><p></p><p><i>-- chrissa </i></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-28677816347647010992021-04-10T08:38:00.001-07:002021-04-10T08:38:20.595-07:00As Blood<p> <i>Sharing with </i>The Sunday Muse <i>for</i> <a href="https://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/">Muse #155</a>. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWAku5u1NU7P7StLvRPJRCuH281HYSMeS_HwizL_IScfwj8GZaJ37o_f45uVwyacCBkFlbOINuyZ89QXQgeFzPQZ8TGnKi5wN1lFuSRgA_q9dFjKEOGJkMYmPLfHzYqcxsqaBEqAM2aZY/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="705" data-original-width="564" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWAku5u1NU7P7StLvRPJRCuH281HYSMeS_HwizL_IScfwj8GZaJ37o_f45uVwyacCBkFlbOINuyZ89QXQgeFzPQZ8TGnKi5wN1lFuSRgA_q9dFjKEOGJkMYmPLfHzYqcxsqaBEqAM2aZY/w320-h400/image.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I thought about writing, I thought about </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">calling</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I thought about folding screams into</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">silence:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">There's no color that bleeds into this</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">paper</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">So it'll have to fly me and all the words</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I have</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">as blood into the wordstream.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Let's say that the only thing important about today is the sunlight picking out the new blooms: the roses are budding out orange, the clovers are yellow, and there are some weeds tucked up against the foundation hanging purple bells in the rose's shadows. It's spring. And we're still at home. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>-- Chrissa</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-17883821678325873982021-04-04T06:47:00.000-07:002021-04-04T06:47:46.200-07:00The Origin of Mercy<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCNIrpCm1fpYRjm2XcnjA3rUTvopA78rYPSsM2u7R7NAHsQ75o_XdvK6Wwm44B4MEUhH58EoG_CQ1HJnQDQUvF3FpRN3OlfWGkaLD7iSMcrGy8vdShJj1FGKz8bclx6g_xbS0JT0qevlY/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="558" data-original-width="368" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCNIrpCm1fpYRjm2XcnjA3rUTvopA78rYPSsM2u7R7NAHsQ75o_XdvK6Wwm44B4MEUhH58EoG_CQ1HJnQDQUvF3FpRN3OlfWGkaLD7iSMcrGy8vdShJj1FGKz8bclx6g_xbS0JT0qevlY/w263-h400/image.png" width="263" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">Slink down to the edge of the world, <br />too heavy;<br />The sky may want to vaunt you<br />But the earth? She has granite<br />melting in her heart.<br />She will show you softness--<br />it will be your own.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><i>Happy Easter to those who are celebrating! We are still awaiting vaccination and therefore spending the day putting together a porch picnic of ham sandwiches, deviled eggs, and potato salad for ourselves and the pups. It would be awesome to see a rabbit, but...no thickets. Maybe a stray squirrel on the fence? It's the fourth of the month and, so far, I've been sticking to my daily American Sentence for NaPoWriMo. I'm slowly edging back into the weekly poetry writing (the NaPoWriMo stuff is more a way to use a new journal than the poems; I've been stress buying journals the more the writing hasn't been happening) and so...yea! New beginnings. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><i>-- Chrissa</i></span></div>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-76491618484568559682021-03-27T12:47:00.002-07:002021-03-27T12:48:01.620-07:00Undeveloped<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmz1ITLV1CtONQZg1jxCdrgsLuGhaQW5M9lDofh3JKSvu28fpysh_2Z2F-UM5DrPU0J20YiJPB1f_9PpSuGjeAeYG9QGX2wMWjY_uz6HVV6ddM5y2HUSqX2Nok8s7fcUt52nJMDQQRfXw/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="350" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmz1ITLV1CtONQZg1jxCdrgsLuGhaQW5M9lDofh3JKSvu28fpysh_2Z2F-UM5DrPU0J20YiJPB1f_9PpSuGjeAeYG9QGX2wMWjY_uz6HVV6ddM5y2HUSqX2Nok8s7fcUt52nJMDQQRfXw/w267-h400/image.png" width="267" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is where the house would have gone, </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">if they'd expanded this direction.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Bulldozed, sun-dazed, gritty </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">with suburban litter; leaves, paper bags, clay.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We come early, chain our bikes to the bars</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">of the metal fence by the coyote trail,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">gathering what we can--feathers,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">bones, Cheetos bags; and bring them here.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I stretch and grasp each one, asking </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">for a journey that brings me</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">back to the houses I knew,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">even if only to be poisoned by them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is where we would have lived.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is where we would have seen</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">hawks wheel, mockingbirds scream,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and dewberry thickets turning green.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">-- <i>C. Sandlin, for </i><a href="https://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/">The Sunday Muse</a></div><br /><p></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-29909313696449484792021-03-23T08:53:00.001-07:002021-03-23T08:53:13.712-07:00NaPoWriMo April!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh01qj6_USSd8sS139DRhh5HE8DrbczHuqFwTJIt1fHmiGwaDtVCh5qC8-D45U3UNoYrZtrE_C6A9-ZNIH00JJmuZyWtH0sr2VBNh2gnYWo51kPu1TavZUQ1GtZ6rjTiP5nztUJ_jaR0R8/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="837" data-original-width="558" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh01qj6_USSd8sS139DRhh5HE8DrbczHuqFwTJIt1fHmiGwaDtVCh5qC8-D45U3UNoYrZtrE_C6A9-ZNIH00JJmuZyWtH0sr2VBNh2gnYWo51kPu1TavZUQ1GtZ6rjTiP5nztUJ_jaR0R8/w267-h400/image.png" width="267" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>I was inspired by an unexpected comment to participate in NaPoWriMo this April. For me, this means writing a (short!) poem a day, every day, this April inspired by our backyard. This April will mark a year of staying at home and I was looking at photos earlier and realized that I'm not sure how I feel about that. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Last year made home more of a haven that it's been in some time--it forced me to think about what I wasn't doing, to evaluate what I've been doing, and to consider what part of that I want back, and what I just don't. There's also the part where I completely lost trust in the social system. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>So...this year, I'm going to consider the dandelions, the clover, the cardinals, the roses, the bees, the rips and the tears and see what poems sneak through. I've already selected the notebook that matches my poetryasaur and we'll see how it goes. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Also--I'm working on a Camp NaNo project at the same time, but that's a topic for another post. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>-- Chrissa</i></div><br /><p></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-73906224804711401722021-03-18T07:20:00.000-07:002021-03-18T07:20:06.695-07:00WordCrafters Wednesday (3/17/2021): St. Patrick's Day <p> Carrie's prompt for today is Luck/Rainbow/Irish/Pot-a-Gold and a lovely green bird. While my heart is with the green bird (and birds along the fence have been keeping me sane during this time of sheltering at home), the poem that came was different.</p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-7ujbgqRQgZnj4A3mhZK0kAZdl4c2vOBrFGHt4bcK9ABzJ1l6RTZ5FpBkWzGmvtTnX-vc-TvdufNxsQq5YfGP4QCZv-cPQkoJRpivZ-W3JiBx0gkYorb7ahZ4fx7aIczsMkG5Z9ylamU/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1058" data-original-width="1880" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-7ujbgqRQgZnj4A3mhZK0kAZdl4c2vOBrFGHt4bcK9ABzJ1l6RTZ5FpBkWzGmvtTnX-vc-TvdufNxsQq5YfGP4QCZv-cPQkoJRpivZ-W3JiBx0gkYorb7ahZ4fx7aIczsMkG5Z9ylamU/w400-h225/image.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><b><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Luck</span></b><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">Luck hummed from his cauldron,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Leprechaun offering this bargain:</div><div style="text-align: center;">Take this gold and spend it fine</div><div style="text-align: center;">In your yard and by your vines.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #bf9000;">All the gold has devoured the green--</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #bf9000;">these prettiest of beetles I've ever seen.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I took the pot of gilded wings,</div><div style="text-align: center;">misled by their shimmering.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Spent it all among the leaves</div><div style="text-align: center;">as it hied itself into the weeds.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div><i><span style="color: #bf9000;">All the gold has devoured the green--</span></i></div><div><i><span style="color: #bf9000;">these prettiest of beetles I've ever seen.</span></i></div><div><br /></div><div>He needed his coins well-fed;</div><div>elf-folk spend only the living lead</div><div>which gilds itself by our dreams</div><div>melted in the heat of greed.</div><div><br /></div><div><div><i><span style="color: #bf9000;">All the gold has devoured the green--</span></i></div><div><i><span style="color: #bf9000;">these prettiest of beetles I've ever seen.</span></i></div><div><br /></div></div></div>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-29760640442321566652021-03-11T14:05:00.001-08:002021-03-11T14:05:57.666-08:00The End (of Some Things)<p> <i>So...change. </i></p><p><i>Over the past year or so I've been asking myself several questions, chief among which is </i>why am I carrying around all these failed projects? <i>Why do I have a plastic bin of cross-stitch projects started decades ago? Why do I have this stack of scrapbook paper? Why this file drawer of half-completed stories? Why do I have all these unread books? I might have argued that these were in reserve against just such a time as this, when I was continually at home and unable/unwilling to go out into the world at large. </i></p><p><i>But really...they're beginning to function as a reminder that things</i><i> </i>can't/haven't/won't<i> be able to go back to "normal." </i><i>The person who started that story or began that book had no idea what the next few years would bring and the story that was started is completely irrelevant to now. I can barely read three chapters at this point, much less create and organize a narrative. </i></p><p><i>It's time to stop. </i></p><p><i>I've enjoyed having this blog (until very recently) and it seemed weird to just leave it without a goodbye. It's been a great project and let me, for a time, be a poet, which was pretty cool.</i></p><p><i>Goodbye and best wishes,</i></p><p><i>Chrissa</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinxLZEwjjQYLGxrAq42U2-Ifuo1ycYXZOj0c6C9CQSppE76WWw-ECekfM4mWNqb1Fk1eEtYL_1-tiN75zDt5Qdt8ynI0dQD43L9lWK27SQfi1g2CLzOighAe8dr8vNp7MmaukVEpePT7Q/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="723" data-original-width="1085" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinxLZEwjjQYLGxrAq42U2-Ifuo1ycYXZOj0c6C9CQSppE76WWw-ECekfM4mWNqb1Fk1eEtYL_1-tiN75zDt5Qdt8ynI0dQD43L9lWK27SQfi1g2CLzOighAe8dr8vNp7MmaukVEpePT7Q/" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br /><br /></i><p></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-55809263438118439082021-03-06T09:18:00.002-08:002021-03-06T09:18:18.441-08:00Sabbatical<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrlQWAD1a0VG8ukMgaglznMvETKhSZu1hcCY7ydQJaiZdVpSwe6DzsD2MsBMd1LagWdJqmybhA8WMZjHQ8aOPAnIsJ3cGdXbBEpYC9CawUZAFZlz_76yMk6aXeBSraHjoZpIh3ldHQ1ww/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="849" data-original-width="1132" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrlQWAD1a0VG8ukMgaglznMvETKhSZu1hcCY7ydQJaiZdVpSwe6DzsD2MsBMd1LagWdJqmybhA8WMZjHQ8aOPAnIsJ3cGdXbBEpYC9CawUZAFZlz_76yMk6aXeBSraHjoZpIh3ldHQ1ww/w640-h480/image.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Spending the month drafting. This blog will return the second weekend in April with weekly poetry and possibly reading-related content. Hope that your spring is bright and creative!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">-- Chrissa</div><p></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-59223325142323730942021-03-03T16:36:00.000-08:002021-03-03T16:36:00.900-08:00WordCrafters Wednesday Prompts<p> <i>Sharing today for WordCrafters Wednesday prompts. Hope your week is going well!</i></p><p><i>-- Chrissa<br /></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqhJABdcSXeBQMwuk3rRiETkYbO3XRQ9iKwazdQcaBCM2j37MsqNyL23zBle0YBE00UNHBBW3DB_d0B5l1QbafVqi2xkeSdKVTmLfKpAzX6x95deQTI5mCiIVZ_VaOpirmKPzhSPXIUYA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqhJABdcSXeBQMwuk3rRiETkYbO3XRQ9iKwazdQcaBCM2j37MsqNyL23zBle0YBE00UNHBBW3DB_d0B5l1QbafVqi2xkeSdKVTmLfKpAzX6x95deQTI5mCiIVZ_VaOpirmKPzhSPXIUYA/w256-h320/image.png" width="256" /></a></div><br /><b>One Chance to Pull the Words</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><i>inspired by Grover Lewis</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Devotion; more than speed:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Hung up tight in art</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">the fight while fate spins</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">hanging days, hanging cities; </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">it's all spiders, careful.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Fate, an 80's child:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Vectors slice graphic webs</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">stretched thin as dimensions</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">worn through to empty space </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">to show off their thin knees.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5l4QQXGSkyqPaWS98a4Gck-AxQMiL0sU2lYvaqalj63YTTPIfl7nDfD5_bcqath9XBtHYNRjH_BmdkYEK4qCL3FX5wRNz6U_pLaiRs4ymrP21bHKhPk-9rLOQQCbiV793iiQu169xFtU/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="867" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5l4QQXGSkyqPaWS98a4Gck-AxQMiL0sU2lYvaqalj63YTTPIfl7nDfD5_bcqath9XBtHYNRjH_BmdkYEK4qCL3FX5wRNz6U_pLaiRs4ymrP21bHKhPk-9rLOQQCbiV793iiQu169xFtU/w267-h400/image.png" width="267" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">She opens the page</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">as if a warm, well-lit den</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">welcomed our words' rest.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><i>dedicated to Carrie VH </i></div><br /><p></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-85138657828078598352021-02-27T07:55:00.000-08:002021-02-27T07:55:42.706-08:00Tightness<p><i>Sharing with </i><a href="https://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/">The Sunday Muse</a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0sECYntRnz7h_h1l7zY5Ru24hzLRSXr2EDXZjAkXvzVB-vP4SoJaVufEDdQZ87LL_cXVOXv8fKW1kGc0blkOg15u7bX4VwB1SFnJQ01ke6Kk4I9VvgMUQAjAcYOovw0w6Ft9eosVodjQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="416" data-original-width="624" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0sECYntRnz7h_h1l7zY5Ru24hzLRSXr2EDXZjAkXvzVB-vP4SoJaVufEDdQZ87LL_cXVOXv8fKW1kGc0blkOg15u7bX4VwB1SFnJQ01ke6Kk4I9VvgMUQAjAcYOovw0w6Ft9eosVodjQ/w400-h266/image.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dark runs with the imps, the river, and the ions</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">all together in the fall, over and over and down;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">space expands. It was meant to be a hole</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">but there are crumbs in the empty.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dark swerves from the backsplash of atoms</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">combining behind, above, right through--</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">every explosion reminds it of the light,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">the tightness, then the shove away.</div><br /><p></p><p><i><b><span style="color: #38761d;">tl;dr: taking an extended break & good luck in the new year :)</span></b></i></p><p><i>Well. The yard is looking much less dead than I expected. Dandelions are super hearty, at least for freakish Texas weather. However, there are still several pots that didn't make it or need refurbishing and, as I look around the office, I feel the same way about so many of my projects from the last several years. They've been potted (in notebooks & on the computer) but, for (possibly freakish) reasons, they've failed to thrive. Maybe I've gone out and gotten too many adorable starts that are now leggy or crispy or sort of staring listlessly out a window wondering what happened. Maybe that's just me. Only round instead of leggy.</i></p><p><i>Not unlike my backyard--or my crazy provisional Kindle list (reading the first few chapters of a random lot of books should count for something)--my writing has become starts, random notes, and what happened earlier in the day when _[insert noun here]___ pissed me off. Projects aren't thriving and neither am I. I'm not even sure what the question is--is it how to finish? Whether to finish? What new direction to pursue? After the storm, I know that the plants need a little extra care. Maybe then it'll be time for the stories.</i></p><p><i>Best wishes for your own projects!</i></p><p>-- <i>Chrissa</i></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-35235559555103074922021-02-20T13:25:00.000-08:002021-02-20T13:25:41.851-08:00Slide<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNeQ-peaa79rKyE5SpMGFRf0aLHXWaYcqWa7e_CJNOej5x0qv_X0_kUQbP3XiagBinJetO99Z_24oQTuD5HyBxzP9753oJo_toP7kqyL5hxdBLC0j8i9pjL2_-YsqaIDlWBUq_HijfcVI/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="759" data-original-width="519" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNeQ-peaa79rKyE5SpMGFRf0aLHXWaYcqWa7e_CJNOej5x0qv_X0_kUQbP3XiagBinJetO99Z_24oQTuD5HyBxzP9753oJo_toP7kqyL5hxdBLC0j8i9pjL2_-YsqaIDlWBUq_HijfcVI/w219-h320/image.png" width="219" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/">Sunday Muse #148</a></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It was empty; wood floors varnish slick</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">You could turn up the volume </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Slide across the surface like a video</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Walls caught you</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Limbs caught you</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Now--it's empty again, walls</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Whiter where the sunlight </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Slides across their face like a video</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Chiaroscuro once,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Chiaroscuro twice</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Lay the memories out, wrap them</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Like the final clinch</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Before the click as the lights come up</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>So. This past week has been--for us--less bad than for others. However. Fine has a finite tensile strength and the fraying has begun. I may take a break for a few weeks and see if things get better. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>I hope you have an excellent week and the words run fizzy as champagne. Cheers and good wishes!</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>-- Chrissa</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-32257535774575820402021-02-13T08:23:00.000-08:002021-02-13T08:23:03.228-08:00One of the Wonders<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAUJYGyou9sMMOFOoKJil5bXjUyadBI0ajmI3EtvIlLsW9hOvJw3mMdxR-cVpl3WL3mhf9xiMf2N7_ss_wpYBBaqJjiKYFsWmbLmWZgr2QRvXt62TmBiyKthK0lMPcEIzQOU5n-3-8VxY/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="399" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAUJYGyou9sMMOFOoKJil5bXjUyadBI0ajmI3EtvIlLsW9hOvJw3mMdxR-cVpl3WL3mhf9xiMf2N7_ss_wpYBBaqJjiKYFsWmbLmWZgr2QRvXt62TmBiyKthK0lMPcEIzQOU5n-3-8VxY/w320-h400/image.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A candle and a thin sliver of slate</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">through which I can see the sky like a herd of wild horses</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">all blue backs and tangled manes of white, pink, champagne</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">behind hills of rock too thick to dream through.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I have blown chalk upon the slate and let it lie</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">for centuries or tuns or aeons...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Until you came along with your candle,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">setting it behind the thin sliver of stone,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">already imagining the earth as a great, hollow thing,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">a giant now filled with you and everyone else.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Imagine that giant with two great candles</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">set behind the thin stone that flaked</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">from the bones of the sky, which was a giant</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">so large, </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">the earth couldn't imagine how small</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">it was--</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">X-raying giants with only candles and art. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Hello and welcome to another poetry blog inspired by the lovely Carrie at </i>The Sunday Muse<i>. We are prepping for what my phone insists is a Winter Storm heading our way, which has already consisted of bringing several pots in and lining them up on the kitchen table:</i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBhji5UYvitFbv5In21NmpglqOXHX6yu-aKkMXfJxuQr8E196JJ9uJQquBG1jygz_JWeNhu7y7pzNF-EBkdlSWpSF93fUexjj6JkGdx4Ql2LdrFRE0OXoihTTAH_LXRaBDlwhnknr29hE/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="875" data-original-width="584" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBhji5UYvitFbv5In21NmpglqOXHX6yu-aKkMXfJxuQr8E196JJ9uJQquBG1jygz_JWeNhu7y7pzNF-EBkdlSWpSF93fUexjj6JkGdx4Ql2LdrFRE0OXoihTTAH_LXRaBDlwhnknr29hE/" width="160" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic; text-align: left;">Which, yes, I know there are weeds among the plants and most of the pots haven't been prepared for spring but that's okay. Also, there's an onion that James handed me a few days ago with question "It's sprouting, do you want to plant it?" Sure, fine, at some point. Meanwhile, welcome to the table garden. Honestly, I've wanted a solarium for years because I hate schlepping water in the heat of the summer (when everything develops a suspicious wilt around 11 am--there is NO SHADE in this neighborhood) and I'm not complaining about a table full of plants. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic; text-align: left;">And, not to be overshadowed by a mere bagatelle of ice and snow (SNOW!!!! I am stupidly excited for the possibility of it), it's also Valentine's Day this Sunday:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm4Fgzn5W4ztcQNFTmpBRMs3qNln59ZWTofGq1AAmhF5r-2EhRmu-fQz7AaebU4UZjWnI8LpTPoBxxph3wtfl4wdX1aUrqae6tmjkXdI1FL7DtjjfxRyZoKYHDSZRT5Vm0sF9O8NRnmxc/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="875" data-original-width="584" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm4Fgzn5W4ztcQNFTmpBRMs3qNln59ZWTofGq1AAmhF5r-2EhRmu-fQz7AaebU4UZjWnI8LpTPoBxxph3wtfl4wdX1aUrqae6tmjkXdI1FL7DtjjfxRyZoKYHDSZRT5Vm0sF9O8NRnmxc/" width="160" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Hope your week is warm in all the important ways and your muse is, like Tom Bodett, keeping the light on for you. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>-- Chrissa </i></div><br /><br /></div><br /></div></div><br /><p></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-10349420845356466662021-02-10T15:17:00.003-08:002021-02-10T15:17:55.280-08:00WordCrafters Wednesday Prompt 2/10/2021<h2 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-weight: normal;"><i> <span style="color: #38761d;">"It is not despair, for despair is only for those who see the end beyond all doubt. We do not." -- Tolkien</span></i></span></h2><p style="text-align: center;">Here I am on the precipice.<br />Already a grey sky thickens winterward<br />But this is already winter, of a sort.<br />There is a year gone to ground <br />A month ago, burrowing into the past<br />From which we will find treasures--and dragons--<br />and great hills of swallowed fire while the trees<br />put a ring around 2020.<br />What will that look like?</p><p style="text-align: center;">I add a loop on the line<br />Pink, no sparkles, like flat sunset<br />rather than a champagne vision, <br />fizzing on a table in an empty restaurant<br />where we cannot despair<br />because, of course, there<br />we cannot be.</p><p style="text-align: center;">I believe that this is another <br />stillborn story. I am playing in this journal<br />at making art--really, I am doing that thing<br />I wanted to do in high school, <br />keeping a diary of the empty days<br />to remind myself that blogs<br />and houses and interests and fears<br />have a lifespan. </p><p style="text-align: center;">I add a flat link, one letter<br />to another. A word breaks at the margin;<br />frangible English or magical<br />sawing itself <br />between meaning and space.<br />Nearly, but not quite, an end.</p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-75110468590626687782021-02-06T09:39:00.000-08:002021-02-06T09:39:23.339-08:00Magnificent in the Yard<p> <i>Amazing image, Susie! Posting with </i><a href="https://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/">The Sunday Muse</a><i> and with </i><a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/">Poets and Storytellers</a><i> this week. </i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1L8N4JwH44xEc73W_3n97ljZnXvG8b7-JnXxbbmnDTaZGgC-jiEZR3s8VhwxmRqHgsesL9F4eld42PM757zWndpoByEhHxiMG5BHfgIJxmsGcsACd_yZyYc_31sxIRW6908AY4tEQB44/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="564" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1L8N4JwH44xEc73W_3n97ljZnXvG8b7-JnXxbbmnDTaZGgC-jiEZR3s8VhwxmRqHgsesL9F4eld42PM757zWndpoByEhHxiMG5BHfgIJxmsGcsACd_yZyYc_31sxIRW6908AY4tEQB44/w400-h400/image.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My neighbor's phone bleats a need for attention.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The wrens have fled; they flew when I stepped out</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">To check the roses for cardinals.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I pause on the concrete then stab my soles</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">In the grass just off the porch. There is a single</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Bluebird on the fence by the a/c.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It is the suburbs, I murmur. We see a moon</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Triangulated by unnecessary chimneys, rooflines,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Fences that rot with each summer.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Still, they sing. Over the gasping shriek of brakes</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">As the deliveries come. I couldn't have seeds without</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">packages and the UPS person.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We are magnificent in the yard. A deep grass</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Pool that washes weedy at the feet of the fenceposts.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We wade in chlorophyll, pollen.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The phone bleats itself exhausted. I know</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">That restless nap, the brain mapping a sheer panic</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Over imagined emergencies.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">That layer, this clear plastic panic, chips</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">When I am still enough for the birds to return,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Cautious, to the crumbled edges.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Singing, they wear the plastic away.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Good reading moment to you! It's midday here, cool enough for the door to be open but warm enough for shorts to still be de rigueur for in the house. I've been watching entirely too much costuming YoutTube (I have a weakness for tulle that I can't indulge IRL--I would essentially look like Queen of the Spiders with dogs variously hooked to my skirts...although Merlin probably wouldn't mind finding himself snuggled into flouncery...and my brain is now telling me that what I need is a giant skirt full of dog pockets for floofs) A N Y W A Y, this week's image felt like a fairy tale but </i>I <i>am not feeling very much like one, so the poem sort of went in its own weird direction. There's a battle between aesthetics and poetics that is currently being won by a desire for chip & dip. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Sorry, my brain is still in a draft that I'm reworking. I'm in the process of taking a draft of a story that when first written I took very seriously. As you can probably tell by the stuff and nonsense above, I've decided to take the sense out and substitute interdimensional spiders who are running a subspace station (like a subway, but less practical) beneath a high school. Not YA. Just Why?</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>And now, back to our regularly scheduled Chip & Dip.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>-- Chrissa</i></div><br /><p></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-65843371603661429712021-02-03T16:33:00.000-08:002021-02-03T16:33:21.910-08:00SteamPower!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7m8Lwkw1LcHU7TmzWOi8t20b4Oz3C_VRFOn81wpwlnT9lSaGx1AWtVVk2S7VXAcV7VR1t8KptdC9xOTmBYzaQLw-PxQcIX8Ev5rF3aW5U4FuyHUwF2aXYXGLLpXoUUDlSjaPbayfEuNY/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="337" data-original-width="253" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7m8Lwkw1LcHU7TmzWOi8t20b4Oz3C_VRFOn81wpwlnT9lSaGx1AWtVVk2S7VXAcV7VR1t8KptdC9xOTmBYzaQLw-PxQcIX8Ev5rF3aW5U4FuyHUwF2aXYXGLLpXoUUDlSjaPbayfEuNY/w300-h400/image.png" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">They still tell the story, there
in the upper lobby<br />Lurlene and her board and the jungle
and the dragon<br />Which could have been a tiger or a
raptor or an ape.<br />The only thing we’re sure about’s
Lurlene.<br /> <br />She said her adventure ticket had
been punched<br />At fifty but her trip’d been
delayed—by what<br />She never mentioned. She was tight,
that dame.<br />We’re sure her only hobby was to
clean.<br /> <br />On that evening, she set up the
board—but—<br />Brought no clothes to iron, not a
pant or shirt,<br />She wore her favorite dress and clambered
up…<br />And set the heavy, newish iron to
steam.<br /> <br />The wallpaper was bamboo when the mist<br />Rose hot and the creaking ironing
board<br />Could have been a birdcall—they say
she yelled<br />And fell, but there was no body to
be seen.<br /> <br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">We’ll never know the truth—that lobby<br />Was redone. The paper peeled, the carpet<br />Bore a singe and everyone just went to dinner.<br />We ate well instead of speaking.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">But when the sharp-finned dinge begins to creep…<br />Someone—always joking—calls for
Lady Steam.<br />Our brave , intrepid, ever-fighting
Queen.<br />No moldy dragon ever got Lurlene!</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><i>With thanks to anyone who ever mopped a floor, cleaned a table before I sat down to eat, washed a dish or an outfit last minute or Lysol'd a doorknob because one of us had the flu--these are acts for which I'm grateful. Also--this may have been inspired by a family member's joy at receiving the Lysol they ordered from Amazon. Small victories.</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><i>--chrissa</i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-31433730374089823102021-02-01T09:45:00.001-08:002021-02-01T09:45:33.305-08:00Sometimes A Broken Notebook<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqoiPeo8Hkrcro_bMf4q8DlIiBfar_mtQcHAxRt-hYpMht99L7O9X82QLC_xHssSz3c5KszwHhdS2Vtr_sfRdHblXYU7_yTXtncj0graecCpKDsor6CurjAVp_jdc6lELiG6KbVdk0dnA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="890" data-original-width="1336" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqoiPeo8Hkrcro_bMf4q8DlIiBfar_mtQcHAxRt-hYpMht99L7O9X82QLC_xHssSz3c5KszwHhdS2Vtr_sfRdHblXYU7_yTXtncj0graecCpKDsor6CurjAVp_jdc6lELiG6KbVdk0dnA/" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And now, February. January was interesting, wasn't it? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">February. Which means--changing the bulletin board over the writing desk. Thinking about what kinds of goals I have for this month. <i>Taking down the Christmas lights. Continuing to avoid leaving the house. Finishing </i>a<i> book.</i> My brain is no longer able to absorb written media. I've started several books (library, books on the shelves, Christmas presents) and put them in neat piles in various places. I read a few pages, forget what I've read, and pick up something else. This carries over into the writing. I'm filling up notebooks, but they resemble journals with a smattering of plotting. Also, dog hair, dog doodles, and photos of things that "relate to the story." Sort of a cheating, writer-adjacent scrapbooking. And so, February.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I decided that the goal this month is just to blow off it all off. To pick up an old story that I don't really plan on finishing & no longer fits in with the how-did-things-blow-up-like-this plotlines I've been working on and just finish that story. Or some zombie draft of it. To read, if it's all I can manage, poems and short stories and a ton more first three chapters. To re-read, if necessary. To read more middle grade, maybe. (<i>The reading slump bothers me more than the writing, honestly. When I just stare at pages and then flip over to FB because I'm sure there's a fuse lit somewhere...it's not good.</i>) </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So--the Frog Prince Project. Bottom of the drawer, back of the desk, something to play with until my brain comes back. :) </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbd1t0ovzTTazQNFuakygrsinvEcBd0ItFmh4Ve02WFg9AITHdI9_l2DNf3MqyPkes1DfDcbi7YIhFsa3o15OHX7VUQY-NejCpgQ7NJhkzVaXLaAa-4EUZR99pSudla8UhicVvGiird5E/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="890" data-original-width="890" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbd1t0ovzTTazQNFuakygrsinvEcBd0ItFmh4Ve02WFg9AITHdI9_l2DNf3MqyPkes1DfDcbi7YIhFsa3o15OHX7VUQY-NejCpgQ7NJhkzVaXLaAa-4EUZR99pSudla8UhicVvGiird5E/" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Keeper of Drafts,</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Prince of Frogs. </i></div><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">-- chrissa</div><br /><p></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-73145211289039619422021-01-30T16:35:00.000-08:002021-01-30T16:35:26.970-08:00Nor Yet One Form of Water<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9a_w7ZrS5VPIs4sNT6Tc2EsGbwbPMMc5dtV3lKBfnfJuj4jeax9ywHnLcDkd8GpT9Wifd0wB83aQnaw5OB8SC5DNW8KaPP3WR7Yih8UwmIz2y6N_ihz5qC0Uf6RjfTtgDs5fPdHuk9Y0/s750/pexels-photo-910311.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9a_w7ZrS5VPIs4sNT6Tc2EsGbwbPMMc5dtV3lKBfnfJuj4jeax9ywHnLcDkd8GpT9Wifd0wB83aQnaw5OB8SC5DNW8KaPP3WR7Yih8UwmIz2y6N_ihz5qC0Uf6RjfTtgDs5fPdHuk9Y0/s320/pexels-photo-910311.jpeg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Not the same nor yet begun, except the sun</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>constant moves and draws us on</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>One form of water marks our steps, or more</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>day's now over or newly come</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Bare footprints from pool or wells trod in the snow</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>slumber, rising, sunset, dawn</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Carol of cold waves, then bells, then birds, and now</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>kindled woods and on.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My brain is pretty firmly wedged into the draft I'm working on, to avoid thinking about a new year cracked and congealing on the counter. I tend to get lost in the thematic aspects of writing (as opposed to finishing drafts--that's not really a skill I possess) and part of the theme of the current draft (and the previous one) is taking a good look and then getting on with life. And, for whatever reason, that's made me question the idea that I need to have a published or a finished or a in-any-way-public writing outlet. My draft is eating my life. *sigh* </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">-- Chrissa</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><br /><p></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-76218054248219116822021-01-23T13:43:00.005-08:002021-01-23T13:43:59.049-08:00It Was An End, We Think<p> Sharing this week with <i><a href="https://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/">The Sunday Muse</a></i> and <i><a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/">Poets and Storytellers United</a>.</i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf9v2XvoKrTLmw4tIc0qDzI0xTRfAvgzFIJFSbTB50Gcz-YluW3sXoZloNpvwxxE_xg7sA3z2GDSVjLnaOBdzgN6BO95ENlBrY66eK5YitZwADhcUa_lBg4Rohx32KG1G_YDsjJI3Jn4U/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="599" data-original-width="600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf9v2XvoKrTLmw4tIc0qDzI0xTRfAvgzFIJFSbTB50Gcz-YluW3sXoZloNpvwxxE_xg7sA3z2GDSVjLnaOBdzgN6BO95ENlBrY66eK5YitZwADhcUa_lBg4Rohx32KG1G_YDsjJI3Jn4U/" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">When the penthouse fell, it kept that purity,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">all the expectations of wealth in the clarity</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">of water. And the zoo had crumbled,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">the bags shredded and flown,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">kibble and buckets forgotten.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">All the animals now drink our last myth;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">our last pellucid tears fell here--the rust</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">we lean against and these rough</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">edges once distance smoothed,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">press sharp against us.</div></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Stand with me at the last window--glass</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">is no longer safe, this pane already</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">cracking at the upper edge.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Lean your weary forehead against the last cold clear.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">There's no prayer in the throat of a beast;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">there's no song in that blue water.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Lay your head against the flat glass;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">there's no more sky in our towers,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">no more gold to climb.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>So, lately it's been hard for me to talk about anything remotely resembling "real life future plans" without inviting nightmares. Wake up, turn on a Disney movie, zonk right back out nightmares, leading to waking up an hour later to another nightmare, this time with theme song. This unexpected fear of the future fits right in with being leery of having family members in the house and beginning to treat things like malls and restaurants as somewhat mythical places, full of as many dragons as any map from the Age of Exploration. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Right now, all this is going into a notebook that might metamorphose into a novella or just a remembrance...not sure yet. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>-- Chrissa </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i> </i></div><br /><p></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-69045273504840899982021-01-16T10:20:00.000-08:002021-01-16T10:20:53.034-08:00Sea Story<p> <i>Sharing this week with </i><a href="https://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/">The Sunday Muse</a><i> and </i> <a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/">Poets and Storytellers United.<i> </i></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiGZmC0Vc0A-WlFm-O_xQTdvUQsSkTjg7XwRTtArxtiJGW1wLK4X5uQNrIRpHwmJDa0dYNs-G9YCvqWgT4DA7w6HOEXcCLcF-Ao7OX-iRQAh6-fdXotVK8wfeYE_iWjPre2MsZZTSqS8M/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="437" data-original-width="564" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiGZmC0Vc0A-WlFm-O_xQTdvUQsSkTjg7XwRTtArxtiJGW1wLK4X5uQNrIRpHwmJDa0dYNs-G9YCvqWgT4DA7w6HOEXcCLcF-Ao7OX-iRQAh6-fdXotVK8wfeYE_iWjPre2MsZZTSqS8M/w200-h155/image.png" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ-O4JEL7v8P91aXtgbzA-1j93CtZvjfCaKYgUxTgMe6I-q1WDHZvL9AkN9Tbb0I4h4ZBtJk0s-e6v4Ht82J2LVHIjzr7DLFYaHDnEfoCvmMN33_kxkFFsC-rnfnQfdRH73PUftDVMR4Y/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="500" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ-O4JEL7v8P91aXtgbzA-1j93CtZvjfCaKYgUxTgMe6I-q1WDHZvL9AkN9Tbb0I4h4ZBtJk0s-e6v4Ht82J2LVHIjzr7DLFYaHDnEfoCvmMN33_kxkFFsC-rnfnQfdRH73PUftDVMR4Y/w200-h133/image.png" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Not the same page twice nor the day--</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><i>I read them or I drank them</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">let's say river water and salt seas</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><i> while coining waveloom sunlight</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">rust the barrel of my pen and I begin</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><i>gold for all our afternoon sewing;</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">again, roll the ball through the water,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><i>the soft catch of a needle </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">start the story, let the wind</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><i>binding fin and silk</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">take all my feathers and fall</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><i>while the novel washes</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">hard</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><i>once</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">back onto the saltwater cured</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><i>through this day and water. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">blank page, stiff now--a scale</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><i>Would you give a dolphin a ruff</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">or a sliver of bone that lifts </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><i>or a tight chainmail weave?</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">skin towards sun and clouds.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><i>Are you dreaming of the great</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Wings flayed from water.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><i>electric heartbeat pounding</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Did you find an empty book</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><i>against your eardrums beneath</i> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">by the shore? Did you open it?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><i>these waves? Are you too dry?</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Was it empty?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><i>Is there a sequel?</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxMr5j-4b6VuIjNPTPcKi2Kznx-ojOWhWAugKdLsqpwupeANZxml0-VrszHMyX0Jz22iabYpYF34EBhvJiwoij50KDiFsPsC73j8iS3pBk98JLdWQckf_ti2MqHRoqGsPor4zwW2zL9U/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="1040" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxMr5j-4b6VuIjNPTPcKi2Kznx-ojOWhWAugKdLsqpwupeANZxml0-VrszHMyX0Jz22iabYpYF34EBhvJiwoij50KDiFsPsC73j8iS3pBk98JLdWQckf_ti2MqHRoqGsPor4zwW2zL9U/" width="192" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>dolphin fleeing from costume</i></td></tr></tbody></table></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>So...this week. Thanks to Shay for giving me a way to peel a poem from a poem (and inspiring a minor speculation on how I'd dress a dolphin, if I had the chance)! And start another story notebook/journal for the upcoming week. And resort to the craft closet to fiddle with character ideas. And listen to the video on repeat. :) </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Despite some good recent news, I feel that I'll be holding my breath through next Wednesday (and, of course, we're still staying at home). And, of all the weirdnesses, Arthur has learned how to climb into office chairs but not how to get down. I'll be typing and hear this "tap, tap" and turn around and see this:</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ZYJ_NVDoqAojs6TPpN8aHXHqDgj8eqBE3TVan9VhBzUJC3WpipTfBAnYahTLa1hphNKhzxUSlksvQY8C1sP6z_MKgAsHFcVZJfAielAzeZuGGKYB1SXbLScb_lCwKdVHVcsbXgeUOKE/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="898" data-original-width="673" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ZYJ_NVDoqAojs6TPpN8aHXHqDgj8eqBE3TVan9VhBzUJC3WpipTfBAnYahTLa1hphNKhzxUSlksvQY8C1sP6z_MKgAsHFcVZJfAielAzeZuGGKYB1SXbLScb_lCwKdVHVcsbXgeUOKE/" width="180" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And then, gradually, he makes his way (because he's adorable and I drag the chair closer) into a balance between our chairs that is highly unstable and requires the writing to cease and the belly scritchies to increase. Because we all know who's in the boss chair.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Hope y'all are having a safe & cozy week! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">-- Chrissa</div><br /><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><br /><p></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-50207725977133632202021-01-10T06:05:00.003-08:002021-01-10T06:05:36.013-08:00Apples, or We Are All Tempted<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAN0L4aXxv_0uoQl0CLgb3M7pZ2KVUWRwHOVFFHHN3c2NHPGK7s7qNDtNvHrf6c3s9_cc6TdSfdzvg50z0Y5jJj7Jf-oCP2jqj-p4eDYdEdvHg-gPldhwx9ERCyEuniPhsbKqb5Fs4MNc/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="787" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAN0L4aXxv_0uoQl0CLgb3M7pZ2KVUWRwHOVFFHHN3c2NHPGK7s7qNDtNvHrf6c3s9_cc6TdSfdzvg50z0Y5jJj7Jf-oCP2jqj-p4eDYdEdvHg-gPldhwx9ERCyEuniPhsbKqb5Fs4MNc/w263-h320/image.png" width="263" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And I kept in my pocket the green letters and icing;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">that cake that never got smaller.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">If only they'd told me, the bakers that sold it</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">about the apples beneath.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Golden apples for life and poisoned for death</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">bitter for faces and...these</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">All the apples underneath.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And I sold for the locket the unending cake</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">that never was eaten at all;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I sold for the face of<span> a foregone beloved</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> hope of nothing, well-gnawed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And still unknown, still concealed, still sweet</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">red apples gleaming</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">in the far, far beneath.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Oh, how perfect they are, how unbitten</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">are the red apples beneath</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And how sharp in the shearing illusion</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">are my beloved's teeth.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Good grief, I have a terrifying thought that I've written a poem that...is about </i>Twilight.<i> Honestly, I'm not sure. I just had this image of buried apples much more potent than the apples of the Hesperides and...you know, there's just no excuse. Apples are always going to be dangerous. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Sharing this week with the much saner than I poets of </i><a href="https://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/">The Sunday Muse</a><i> and </i><a href="https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/">Poets and Storytellers United</a>.<i> Come read widely and well!</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>-- Chrissa</i></div><br /><p></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3991643728928196015.post-53489703202499066652021-01-05T09:25:00.000-08:002021-01-05T09:25:01.203-08:00The Quiet Part Loud<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwyid1VkOqhyKikVk3szTAKzhmHSTrJTEH4NL3k-_j5XOac2SQXw3h3nwf_3QvS1g1-oNGFjMFqQJ8iwA1zhheI0Jp04-ucbh3Vifc1rHhn5GqQMnA2NUbBebUZchqRKHUbxli94EXfTM/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="846" data-original-width="564" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwyid1VkOqhyKikVk3szTAKzhmHSTrJTEH4NL3k-_j5XOac2SQXw3h3nwf_3QvS1g1-oNGFjMFqQJ8iwA1zhheI0Jp04-ucbh3Vifc1rHhn5GqQMnA2NUbBebUZchqRKHUbxli94EXfTM/w267-h400/image.png" width="267" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">All the books are feral,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">hanging like bats on dark limbs.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Clocks have sword arms to cut the tough minutes...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Where did you think immortality grew?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">If the books don't bite, if they snap</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and release, they'll teach you to read.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Like the gnomes with their newsleaves,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">gossip gathered vein by vein and underneath,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">deep in the root, miles of fungal brain</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">driving the nerves into print.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's never time to go, here. Only to stop.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">There are fairies in infinity,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">their novels starlight and icon and snow.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Gnomes excavate the plot, make bodies</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">of the cold forever and burn their fears</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">sticky and melting onto the branches</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">as they twinkle--laughing in spiral and </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">final, crushing, eternity.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Infinity wants its heaven;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">wants it goddesses and gods </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and celebrity crushes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Something for them to eat, upside down, </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">all these books gone feral.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>-- Chrissa</i></div><br /><p></p>C. Sandlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15616902831506982429noreply@blogger.com2